


Turning in Time

by madmorr



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Ballet, Childhood, Competition, Enemies to Friends sort of, Gender Role Reversal, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmorr/pseuds/madmorr
Summary: In the cutthroat world of ballet, a childhood rivalry between dancers Scott and Mitch becomes a unique bond.





	Turning in Time

**Author's Note:**

> A little one-shot to relieve my writers block :) quite disclaimer, I've never done ballet so please excuse any terminology errors! Hope you love these ballet boys as much as I do!

Most people don’t decide on a career path until their twenties. Mitch chose his at age nine. He would become a renowned ballet star, and perform on the world’s grandest stages. At that age, he was just beginning to grow into his ambition, but still held firmly to the idealism and abundant confidence of childhood, until a certain blond-haired boy came along to burst his bubble. 

It was at his first time competing at the finals for the Youth America Grand Prix as a nine year old that Mitch watched Scott Hoying dance. After his first round, Mitch exited the stage to roaring applause, having just given the best performance of his young career, and immediately weaved he way through the maze-like corridors of backstage to the auditorium to watch his competition dance. By the time he reached his seat next to his parents in the audience and received their congratulatory hugs and kisses, the boy that had danced right after him, number three-hundred and eleven, had already finished and gave his bow so Mitch settled in to watch the next contestant. 

“Number three-hundred and twelve, Scott Hoying, age ten, United States of America, dancing a variation from Coppelia,” the announcer rattled off in the same monotone voice she used to introduce every dancer as a tall, blonde boy walked onto the stage. From the moment the familiar music started Mitch was completely enthralled. The boy, Scott, danced more gracefully than Mitch would have ever expected considering his gangly appearance. He danced with such power, but executed each move as if it were his first time and he was making the steps up as he went along. His technique was near flawless, but just slightly unpolished in a way that was thrilling, and showcased his raw strength. 

Mitch’s jaw dropped. He was in love, desperately in love with that boy. That is, until the next day when Scott Hoying accepted the gold medal at the awards ceremony while Mitch looked down in disbelief at the smaller, silver medal resting on his own chest. He felt totally crushed for about thirty seconds before the ambition and drive returned ten-fold and he couldn’t wait to get home to work even harder for next year’s competition. So when he turned to the tall, blond boy to shake his hand, the smile he wore wasn’t a forced gesture of polite sportsmanship, it was genuine, as he pictured in his mind how different things would be next year. If Scott even dared show up.

Scott, as it turned out, had a lot of nerve because he continued to show up every year to compete against Mitch. The two were known rivals, complete opposites in every way, and while Mitch would never admit it aloud, he felt a fierce admiration for Scott underneath his competitive nature. Mitch was light, effervescent, and blessed with unbounded raw talent. What Scott lacked in natural ability, he made up for in passion and drive. He was a technically perfect dancer, classically trained with flawless technique and the ideal ballet physique to boot. The competition between them was so fierce that sometimes it felt to Mitch as though they existed in a category entirely their own at each YAGP competition, as if all the other boys in their age group were irrelevant. Scott was Mitch’s only real competition, and vice versa. 

Annually the two met for a match race of sorts, trading first and second place between them over the years. The first few years, Mitch had secretly hoped Scott wouldn’t show up and grant him an easy win until one year when he actually got his wish. Scott was absent due to an untimely injury and Mitch danced the worst he ever had, ending up in third place. Every year after that, Mitch always waited with bated breath in the backstage warm up room until he spotted Scott, as if he were his lucky charm rather than his arch nemesis. 

Their final year at the YAGP, they stood side by side on the awards stage for the last time with all the other eighteen year-olds they’d grown up competing against. They’d receive not medals this time, but something far more valuable: a contract with a company. Mitch had his fingers crossed for the Royal Ballet. He held his breath. 

“To the New York City Ballet,” the announcer said “the recipients of the contracts are: Scott Hoying and Mitchell Grassi.”

Images of London evaporated quickly from Mitch’s mind as a judge from the NYCB stepped forward to shake their hands and pass them each a large envelope. Mitch turned slowly to Scott who looked like he was holding back tears. He extended his hand and Scott gripped it.

“See you in New York, Scott.”

Scott grinned widely. “Yeah, see you.” 

Mitch couldn’t decide if dancing at the same company with Scott would be a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, he’d been quietly dreading saying farewell to the dancer that had inspired and pushed him to reach this point. They’d never been friends per se, but there was a unique yet unspoken bond between them; a product of spending years battling each other for the spotlight while simultaneously motivating each other to improve and watching the other’s progress. On the other hand however, he’d have to continue to vying with Scott on an even grander scale. Would his presence hurt Mitch’s own chances of success? Only time would tell, he supposed. 

— — 

Upon arriving to the NYCB, Mitch resigned himself to the fact that Scott Hoying was simply inescapable. He went from seeing the blond boy once a year to almost all day every day. His height made him stand out in every one of the numerous mirrors they were constantly surrounded by and Mitch often couldn’t help staring. 

Every movement Scott made looked beautiful from the way he executed the morning warm ups with such strength and control, to the way he covered his mouth with his hand when he laughed with the large group of other dancers he’d become friends with. Mitch observed him from a distance, deeply interested in him but too shy to exchange more than a polite smile or passing greeting. He kept to himself for the most part, keeping his head down and working hard, relishing the way his body ached at the end of each day. It was surprising how little they interacted considering they spent nearly twelve hours a day in the same general vicinity but occasionally, Mitch would catch Scott glancing at him curiously from across the room.

Before Mitch knew it, the first two months of his professional career had come and gone. The whirlwind schedule helped time escape him and while the near constant dancing cost him almost every ounce of energy, Mitch found himself beginning to feel restless. The basic bread-and-butter parts he danced day in and day out tired him physically, but mentally, left something to be desired. He needed different kind of challenge, the thirst for which he quenched on his rare evenings off in the empty studio. 

Since the first time he watched the Swan Lake ballet at five years old, Mitch had aspired to dance the part of the black swan. Not the prince, not the sorcerer, but the swan. Everything about her captivated him from her sinister seductiveness to the technical difficulty of the part. While adapting the piece for a male dancer proved tricky and time consuming, Mitch relished the opportunity to dance something other than the standard background parts of his everyday job. 

Sweat rolled down his temples and his muscles quivered, already exhausted from a long day of rehearsals. He drilled one specific part over and over but just couldn’t get it right. This didn't really surprise him since the dance was a pas de deux, meant to be danced with a partner, not alone. It was cumbersome, playing the music from his phone and having to rewind it every few seconds but Mitch persisted, chasing the effortless beauty he’d seen in the ballerina when she danced the part. After multiple frustrating repetitions, he stopped to rest for a moment. As he stood with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily, the sight of a face in the mirror almost made his heart stop and he turned around quickly. He recognized it as Scott, peeking through the small rectangular window in the door. Scott smiled sheepishly at being discovered, waved, and hesitantly opened the door to enter. 

“Hey sorry for creeping, I had to come back to grab my muscle roller,” Scott explained quickly, bending down to grab the white roller from under one of the chairs. “Was that the black swan’s part you were dancing?”

Mitch flushed and nodded, fully expecting to be laughed at for wasting his time and energy practicing a female part. 

“I love that part,” Scott exclaimed without missing a beat. “You dance it beautifully,” he added, leading Mitch to wonder how long he’d been watching. “But,” and Mitch tensed, expecting Scott to question his sanity, “don’t you need a partner?” 

Oh. Of all the awkward questions Scott could have asked, Mitch wasn’t prepared for that. Who was this boy? 

“I’m trying to make it work without one. It’s just for fun anyway,” he added casually, hoping Scott would drop it and not tell anyone about his silly efforts. 

“Do you want one?” 

“What?”

“A partner. I could partner for you if you want.” 

Mitch studied him closer before answering. He was sweaty and still in stage makeup, having clearly just finished a show. Why would he offer to stay late to dance with Mitch?

“You just had a show, aren’t you tired?” Mitch asked. 

Scott shrugged, “when aren’t we tired?” 

“Do you know the step?” Mitch hedged, suspending his immediate inclination to thank Scott for the offer but decline so as not to waste his time too.

“Well enough I think. I’ve watched it enough times and practiced it on my own a bit.” Of course he did. What male dancer hadn’t memorized the prince’s part in Swan Lake? Mitch remained unsure, but the craving to know what it felt like to dance the part as it was meant to be danced quickly won out.

“Um okay, thanks. Just for a few minutes, if you really don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Scott said with a bright grin, “this is one of my favorite pas de deux parts. Just let me put my shoes on.” And promptly sank down to sit on the floor and rummaged through his backpack to pull out his flat shoes. 

“We can just work the turns, no lifting,” Mitch said when Scott’s ready. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing, practicing a part he’ll never get to perform from a ballet he won’t dance the lead in for at least a few more years with a boy he barely knows. 

They spent the first few minutes familiarizing themselves with the steps in slow-motion without music just to get a feel for each other’s dynamic. Mitch already knew Scott’s dancing and partnering style better than he’d like to admit from countless hours of watching him. Although dancing with a new partner always feels awkward at first and takes some figuring out, it surprised Mitch how little time it took for them to fall into balance with one another. Scott had a reputation among the ballerinas as one of the best, most reliable partners in the corps and Mitch could finally see why. Scott held him firmly but gently, helping him turn easily. 

Physical touch in ballet was second nature to most dancers, it was just part of the job. Mitch certainly had years of practice partnering with women, holding them close while portraying the world’s greatest love stories through dance. However, he’d never once danced with someone he was genuinely attracted to. It felt new, exciting, and maybe a little forbidden, every movement now infused with emotion. 

Mitch was so accustom to dancing the male role of the strong supporter that being in the opposite position felt so foreign. Scott’s hands felt secure and strong on his waist and Mitch relaxed into his hold. It was simultaneously frightening and thrilling to relinquish some of the control and allow himself to be guided by Scott. 

Mitch wanted more. His body hurt, legs protesting the extra work, but he didn’t want to stop this moment. Regretfully, he called it quits just a few minutes later, wanting to spare Scott.

“That was so much fun, dancing something different for a change,” Scott enthused.

“Yeah,” Mitch nodded in agreement. “That’s why I’m doing this. For a change.”

“Do you think— I mean I don’t want to impose on your personal time— but could we do this again sometime?” He asked, sounding hopeful. 

“You’d actually want to?” 

“Oh totally. But only if you’re up for it.”

“That would be amazing Scott. Thank you. Dancing it alone kind of really sucks, it’d be great to have a partner.”

“Awesome,” Scott smiled a big, crinkly-eyed smile. “See you tomorrow, Mitch.”

Mitch waved as Scott departed. As he laid down to sleep later than night, he couldn’t forget the feel of Scott wrapped around him, his pretty blond prince.

— —

Being both gay and fully focused on dance, Mitch hadn’t participated in typical teenage dating and the closest he’d come to romance was the flicker of an innocent childhood crush on Scott. Due to their infrequent contact as kids, his interest in Scott had remained a quiet secret. But in light of their budding friendship, the crush grew into something stronger, a desire to be near Scott all the time.

They started dancing next to one another at the barre during morning class, sitting together during breaks, eating together, doing their stage makeup together before shows, and icing their aching muscles together afterward. Somehow it wasn’t enough though. Mitch craved their quiet evenings off when they had the time and energy to meet up in the empty studio to dance together in a different way then they did day-to-day. Not just dancing the same steps side by side but dancing together. 

Being members of the corps de ballet, they worked long hours, serving as small pieces of the large base of dancers that acted as the backdrop for the soloist and principle dancers. Like every other dancer in the corps, both Scott and Mitch, hungry with ambition, dreamt of moving up the ranks of the company to the coveted role of principal dancer. In the beginning of his career at the New York City Ballet, Mitch saw his time in the corps as just a necessary step toward that goal, but Scott’s companionship made him savor the experience more now that he had someone to share all the pain and joy with. 

“Why the black swan?” Scott asked out of the blue one night, after they’d finished running through the whole variation. 

Mitch shrugged. “She’s dark. And dangerous,” he replied, flashing Scott a mischievous grin. 

“Just like you,” Scott joked.

“Just like me,” Mitch agreed with a laugh.

“Do you want to run it again? I’m so excited we finally have those lifts down!” Mitch couldn’t figure out where the guy got all his energy. 

“Aren’t you sick of carrying my heavy ass around?” Mitch asked, poorly concealing his genuine concern. 

“No way you’re _tiny_. My little black swan.” 

Mitch ducked his head at the fondness in Scott’s voice. Tiny was a bit of an exaggeration, he wasn’t actually that small but he was certainly smaller than most male dancers. For maybe the first time, Mitch didn’t flinch at the comment that drew attention to his petite physique. It’d been an uncomfortable topic for Mitch ever since a judge at the YAGP had found him backstage after the presentation of awards when he was eleven or twelve to congratulate him. 

“Let’s just hope you hit that growth spurt soon so you’ll have the strength to match your talent,” she’d said with a thick Russian accent and patted him on the shoulder. She likely meant to sound encouraging, but the comment haunted Mitch for years after. Even more so when the highly anticipated growth-spurt never really came. Mitch remained lean and modest in height, disadvantages that hindered him once he started partnering and having to support and lift ballerinas. The fear that his size would hurt his chances of success in ballet pushed him to train harder than anyone. The work paid off, and he easily had the highest jumps, fastest turns, and best flexibility of any other male corps member, making up for his lack of height and muscle mass. Mitch had grown so much in his confidence as a dancer since early adolescence but the hint doubt never fully left him. 

“I used to wish I had a body like yours,” Mitch admitted quietly. 

“Seriously? Why?” The surprise in Scott’s voice confuses Mitch, how could Scott be oblivious to his beauty?

“Well look at you. Even as a kid you had legs for days. And your broad chest, your shoulders, arms…even your hands are gorgeous. So strong…” Mitch suddenly became aware of his hand that was lightly trailing over each part of Scott’s upper body as he named it and blushed with embarrassment. 

Outside of ballet, Mitch had never been a particularly tactile person. Personal space was actually pretty important to him so while he enjoyed the physical aspect of dancing with a partner, there’d always been a clear line between physical touch in dance and normal life (as far as the two can be separated for him). But with Scott it was like that line became blurred to the point where he could barely differentiate between dance and regular interaction as they transitioned seamlessly back and forth between them. The different pieces of their relationship as coworkers, friends, and maybe something more melded together and he forgot that not every word had to be accompanied by a physical movement or touch to convey his feelings. 

“Sorry,” Mitch apologized, withdrawing his hand. “Does that bother you?” 

“No I like it,” he said, chuckling softly. “But I don’t get it. I mean sure, I’m tall but I’m not beautiful like you,” he responded softly. And then he was reciprocating Mitch’s touch, brushing his fingertips along Mitch’s collarbone, over the curve of his shoulder muscle, and down his arm. “Your lines are to die for. You’re so delicate and graceful,” he said and Mitch wasn’t sure if it was his soft murmur or trailing fingertips that forced him to suppress a shiver. 

“See but those words. Delicate, graceful. Those aren’t the words I want, the words I need, as a male dancer,” Mitch sighed sadly. “I need strong, powerful, sturdy. That’s how you make it as a male dancer. Not by being delicate.” 

Mitch couldn’t believe he was admitting this, possibly his biggest insecurity as a dancer, to the boy who was his fiercest competitor, the most serious threat to his dream of becoming a principal dancer. But Scott was so much more than just his competition now, and that’s what gave him the confidence to speak those thoughts aloud. The studio, their quiet space to be alone together, felt like it existed in an alternate dimension from the one filled with the busy intensity of the daylight hours. With its dim lights illuminating just the two of them, Mitch felt he could say or do anything. He could admit to his fears and nothing bad would happen with Scott there. 

“Have you ever tried pointe shoes?” Scott asked suddenly.

“I mean, yeah I’ve tried on a pair my friend’s old ones before,” Mitch answered, confused by the rapid change of subject. 

“But have you ever tried dancing in them?” Scott pressed. 

“No, why?”

Scott waggled his eyebrows in response, smirking. 

Mitch burst into giggles. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious!” Scott exclaimed. “They keep the shoe room unlocked.”

“How do you even know that?” Mitch asked incredulously. 

“I don’t know, I’m friends with the shoe fitter, I guess she mentioned it to me,” Scott shrugged. 

“God, who aren’t you friends with?” 

“C’mon,” Scott grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the studio door and Mitch’s heart leapt as if he hadn’t just been wrapped tightly in Scott’s arms mere moments ago. Sure enough, the door to the shoe stockroom opened to reveal hundreds of carefully organized pairs of pale pink pointe shoes. 

“I can’t dance in these, they’re all brand new,” Mitch said, looking up and down the shelves of shoes as Scott disappeared somewhere toward the back of the room. Each shelf had a label of the size and maker of the shoe. There were also individual cubbies labelled with names of specific dancers that contained several pairs of their custom-made shoes that they could come grab whenever they needed. 

“Aha!” came Scott’s voice from the back. 

“What?” Mitch asked, following the sound back to find Scott standing triumphantly by a huge bin of used, discarded pointe shoes. 

“Um, ew,” Mitch commented at the thought of trying on a shoe that someone had sweated and possibly even bled in. 

“Oh c’mon,” Scott encouraged, “look, this pair is fine, barely used, they toss perfectly good shoes all the time,” and held up a pair that were in reasonably good condition and looked close to his size. Mitch took them hesitantly, then sank down on a nearby chair to try them on. First, he folded the sole back and forth a couple of times to soften the shank the way he’d seen many of the ballerinas prepare their shoes. He pulled off his flat shoes, then slipped one of the pointe shoes on. The satin was stretched tight, but luckily, his feet were small enough to just barely fit. After tying the ribbon around his ankle to secure the shoe, he stood up and pointed his foot, turning it this way and that, admiring the arch of his foot in the shiny pink shoe.

“Pretty,” Scott complimented, grinning. “Put the other one on.”

Mitch complied, lacing up the other shoe, then Scott stood in front of him and offered his hands for support so Mitch could stand on his toes. It actually wasn’t as uncomfortable as looked.

Excited, Mitch tugged at Scott’s hands. “I want to look in the mirror,” he said and pulled him back down the hall to the studio. Using the barre for support he stood up on his toes again and watched in the mirror as he tested out some simple relevés, fascinated by the way the pointe shoes lengthened his legs, finishing out his line beautifully. 

“Wow,” he breathed. 

“So gorgeous, Mitch,” Scott said and Mitch smiled at him in the mirror.

After a few minutes of practice at the barre, Mitch had worked out out the proper alignment and foot placement required to maintain his balance and removed his hands from the barre. Scott stood close by, prepared to steady Mitch if necessary. Being up on pointe was far less involved and painful than Mitch had always imagined and soon he was testing out pique turns and pirouettes. 

“Okay let’s try from the end, starting at the arabesque.” Scott suggested once he’d mastered the turns.

“You’re insane I’ll snap both of my ankles,” Mitch argued.

“No you won’t,” Scott assured him, “I won’t let you hurt yourself. I’ll be right here.” Mitch’s heart fluttered at the certainty in his voice.

“Okay but if this destroys my career, it’s on you,” he warned. 

“Deal,” Scott quipped and stepped closer to wrap his arms around his waist from behind. “Just trust me, Mitch,” he murmured, breath ghosting across Mitch neck making him go weak at the knees. 

So they danced. Mitch felt weightless and delicate, graceful and beautiful and for the first time it didn’t feel wrong. It felt completely right, with Scott by his side where he belonged.

**********

Here’s a verrrrrryyyyy rough sketch I did of Mitchy on pointe and another of him in black swan makeup just for fun!! I’m not the best drawer but I’m so obsessed with dancer Mitch I just had to try to put the pictures in my head on paper (and yeah, I can’t draw hair to save my life).

And here’s a link to the dance they’re practicing in case you’re curious :) [Swan Lake Dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=699cbEBHN3s)


End file.
